A Star is Born in Upland

I was 10 years old when my dad built a house in the foothills above Upland. We lived there for 6 years. My growing-up years. It was a great place to grow up. At the edge of civilization, at the edge of the wilderness. The view over the valley was amazing, 30 miles in every direction when the air was clear, and at night, 30 miles of twinkling lights. After living there a couple of months, watching all the lights, my dad decided he wanted to reciprocate. He wanted a way to give back. 

So my dad built a Christmas star, and he mounted it on the roof. It was maybe 12’ tall and had Christmas lights running around it.  When it was dark enough, he went to see how it looked. It was disappointing; after driving a couple of blocks away it was too dim to see. Well, that week, the Santa Ana winds started to blow. And the star blew down. 

Hmm, back to the drawing board. Literally, to the drawing board.  My dad designed and built homes and he actually had a drawing board. So, back to the drawing board. The second attempt resulted in a 40’ tall star with 40-40 watt bulbs starting at the ground and ending higher than our 3 story house.  Well, when it was dark enough….I’ll say this, it didn’t disappoint.  Five miles away, at the intersection of Arrow highway and Euclid right in the middle of Upland, you could see it easily. So that is how the star was born. 

We lived there for 6 years, and when the house was sold, it was with the provision that the star would be put up every Christmas. 

My dad built another house one lot down the hill, the round house. I lived there for many years as well. After I graduated from college I started living life down the hill. Yeah, down the hill. My family name is Hostetler. It is a Swiss/German name which means, living on a mountainside. It fits well with my dad. But somehow I became a flat lander and I’ve lived in the valley under the star ever since. 

Fast forward 35 years to 2003, the current owner of the star house was Ken Petschow.  And he made good on the promise to put up the star. I mean he made good on the promise. He had made a new star, bigger than the original using aluminum B-52 wing struts with high output fluorescent lights. The star stopped twinkling and started glowing. 

Unfortunately, tragedy happened when the Grand Prix fire raced through the foothills and the both houses, star house and the round house burned down. The fire happened in October. Although it wasn’t lit yet, the star was already set up, ready for the Christmas season.  And as Ken watched the fire approach his house, he lit the star and fled down the hill. A few minutes later, the house and the star burned down.

I remember distinctly, the morning after. That weekend I was at a men’s gathering at Mile HIgh Pines Camp camp, 50 miles away. And we were evacuated because of that fire. It was a humongous fire, a fire that had spread across 50 miles of foothills. So we were evacuated. When I got off the freeway near my house,  I stopped at the top of a 3 story parking garage to see what was happening to the other edge of the fire. I couldn’t see anything, I couldn’t see the foothills, I couldn’t see the flames, nothing but smoke.  

Well, the next morning the phone rang, and I was told that both the star house and the round house had burned down. My house was 6 miles away. So I drove up to look, all the roads were closed but I pulled off and grabbed my binoculars. When I looked to see where they used to be, there was nothing left. Nothing but some wisps of smoke

I went there because I was curious to see what happened to the houses I grew up in but I didn’t expect the emotions. I put down the binoculars and started to weep. All the memories of growing up in the star house and building the round house with my father.  And right after that, the thought came, we need to get the star up. I was talking with my dad later that day and I said somehow we need to get the star up. My dad said I already talked to Ken about that. 

It made sense, after all, it was our star. Actually, it was Ken’s star. He has lived in the house for more than a decade, longer than we had lived there, and he rebuilt the star to be brighter and bigger. We had nothing to do with the star anymore. Hmm, but somehow it is our star too. 

In north Upland is San Antonio Heights, it is a community that nestles up to the mountains. It turned out, everyone in San Antonio heights thought that same thought. Somehow it was their star too. When the star house tragically burned down, the sense of community that ensued became apparent. Our star, became Ken’s star, and it became everyone in San Antonio Heights, star. And it galvanized the community, they washed cars, they did bake sales, the community raised the money to rebuild the star and to erect it on a scaffold. It sat on what was left of the house, the blistered concrete floor. 

Somehow, Huell Howser, the star of the T.V. program, California Gold, learned about what happened to the star over Upland, and a show was made. It starts with my parents and ends with Ken and the ceremony to light the star. If you want to watch it, here is the link.  https://www.pbs.org/video/holiday-star-wklfhx/

In hindsight, the decision to build the star was a brilliant decision. Brilliant, what a great word. It means: very bright and radiant, or exceptionally clever or talented. Those of you who knew my dad would concur, he was a clever and talented guy. And 57 years later, the star is still shining brightly and radiant. 

The word hindsight is often used when things go wrong. In hindsight, I wish I didn’t do…? 

But sometimes it is used when things go right. Something good started because of that one decision. The decision to give back. 

Fast forward to today. 22 years after the fire, 57 years after the decision to give back to the community happened, the star is still shining. It is shining brightly as I write this post. Although the star house hasn’t been rebuilt Ken Petschow still erects the star. It is hanging from an old crane. A crane he bought just to hang the star on. 

The winds of life blow, sometimes gently, sometimes forcefully. The Santa Ana wind that blew over the first rickety star my dad built, were the same winds that were blowing during the Grand Prix fire. Yeah, the winds blow. Overcoming the wind of adversity is something everyone deals with. But things that have been burned down and blown over can be rebuilt. Thankfully Ken (and the community) rebuilt the star. 

The first Christmas star came to proclaim joy and peace to a hurting world.  To proclaim joy and peace even when the winds of adversity blow. Man, that happened to me. Joy and peace happened while the winds of adversity were blowing through my brain. The Christmas star which is lit over Upland can do that as well. If you let it, it will point you to the one who promises us peace.